Today, August 15, she's 7, Islanders.
Our baby girl is 7.
YES. Munchface, the little chick who just came home from the hospital *like* yesterday, is 7 (God's number of perfection and completeness).
She isn't 1:
She isn't 2:
She isn't 3:
She isn't 4? NOPE:
But 6? She's totally 6, right?
No?! What do you mean?
I'm not ready. I'm trying to get ready... I'm just -- well. I'm not.
Listen, I'm biased. I know. She may not be the cutest, smartest, sassiest, most adorablest, funniest, bestest little girl ever to grace the Earth to you.
But to me?
She is amazing. I can't get enough of her... Even when she is on my last nerve. She's great... Even when I have to push her to try harder.
I am blessed to have her. She's completed my life and, I truly believe, God showed me my true purpose by giving me her.
I'm her mommy. I don't care if, as she gets older, she shortens it to Mom... That's who I am.
Her birthday is the annual bittersweet reminder that my role as a parent is temporary. I will always be her mom but eventually, I'll have to release her to the world a poised and well-rounded, honest person. The kind of person who will be strong enough to set an example of virtue in a society of confusion... The kind of person I already know she is...
Maybe, even after 7 years, I'm not ready to share her with the world. Maybe I want to be stingy and hold her just a little longer... I want to smell her cheeks and kiss her over and over and over... She's excited for all of these milestones and sometimes, she has to push me to let go...
Happy birthday, my baby. There will always be room on my lap and in my arms for you.